Author's Note: Much thanks to my betas, Leigh, Gage, and ActionAimz.
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Ana Lucia sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and chin in hands. She gazed down at her jeans in a heap on the floor and knew that she should get dressed before the next shift came down to the hatch. It wasn't like anyone knocked around here. She was tired of being the topic of island gossip, and this would certainly set all those little tongues wagging.
The bed moved and creaked slightly, accompanying the sound of slow, steady breathing behind her. An image came to mind from a late-night infomercial she used to watch when she had insomnia, back in the real world. A bowling ball was dropped on one side of the bed, and a full wine glass stayed upright on the other, proving that the person trying to sleep next to you wouldn't wake up when you tossed and turned. These bunks had definitely been installed before that technology came around; she'd taken a full two minutes to sit up so as not to disturb the warm body sleeping next to her. At least someone was getting some rest around here.
It had only been three weeks since she'd stepped out of the jungle and into this bizarre little commune. Her body hadn't yet realized that it could afford more than two hours of sleep per night, so she'd asked for the graveyard shift that none of the other button-pushers seemed all that eager to fill. Six hours in a room with one other person was preferential to the assorted snores, giggles, and cries that she couldn't help but hear while lying awake in her makeshift shelter at night. The beach was rarely quiet. The hatch, on the other hand, was blessedly silent. Most people who signed up for graveyards just wanted an opportunity to sleep on a real mattress, and she was happy to let them to it.
On her first shift she'd explored every nook and cranny of the place, finally getting a feel for it without anyone's running commentary. She'd been free to run her hands over the walls without eliciting questioning glances; most of them would never understand what it meant to function on one's tactile sense, with the possible exception of John Locke. Subsequent shifts were spent working out and devouring the small library. There'd been a rare smile on her face the first time she'd lain down on the bench to lift. It had cleared her mind like it used to in the real world. She'd been sore afterwards, but physical exertion that didn't result from running for her life was a welcome change.
The library consisted mostly of classics that she'd never had an interest in, but there wasn't much of a choice now. Time spent reading was time spent wishing she'd paid more attention in school so she didn't have to look up so many words. The shift with Charlie had been spent reading and sharing a dictionary while he muttered about "bloody American-English". The hours had flown by during the shift with Hurley: she'd laughed at his lame Spanish jokes and he'd pumped her for information about Libby; the pledge of secrecy on both topics was implied. She'd spent a shift with one of the beach-dwellers whose name she didn't know, and he hadn't offered. The entire six hours had passed with him sitting in front of the computer screen, frantically typing the numbers the moment the alarm went off. He'd jumped about a foot when she coughed, and had glared when she'd chuckled softly.
Two weeks of quiet shifts, of getting set in a routine, before Ana got hit with a curveball. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids and felt the tingle settle back in her gut as she remembered the hands that had explored her body just hours before. Slow and deliberate, like there was all the time in the world, like no one could walk in at any moment and see those lips running over her neck, tasting the sheen of sweat that formed as her skin heated. The fear of discovery just slipped away as those hands reached under the worn black tank and lifted it up and off. Then it was bare skin against bare skin, and she found it difficult to remember how they got this far, how she ended up straddling those hips, those legs on the moldy-smelling couch with some old country singer crooning in the background. She didn't even stop to wonder how she let her guard down and be so utterly overtaken. All that mattered in that moment were the lips against her collarbone and the fingers unbuttoning her jeans, reaching in, and causing her to cry out.
-beep-
-beep-
"Ana," came a muffled voice from behind her, "do you want me to get that?"
"I got it." She replied as she rubbed her hands over her face, got up, and tugged her jeans on. Striding over to the computer, she quickly entered the code, crossed into the next room, grabbed her shirt off the floor, and pulled it on as well. A scratching noise caught her attention and she realized that a deep groove had been worn into the record. She sighed and lifted the needle, then switched off the player. The whole thing could be blamed on the hatch, on the illusion of normalcy that it managed to sustain between alarms. This never would've happened on the beach, in the caves, or in the jungle. Then again, it probably never would've happened in the real world either.
She walked back to the bedroom and leaned against the thick doorway, the cement cooling her shoulder at contact. The mess of sheets barely covered the body that was stretched out beneath them.
"I can feel you watching me, you know."
"Sorry." Ana replied. An unwitting smile played on her lips as she watched those legs stretch, toes curling.
"That's okay. How long until the next shift starts?"
"A couple of hours."
Kate rolled over in bed with a tiny smile of her own. She propped her head up on one elbow and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, meeting Ana's gaze levelly. "Do we need to talk about this?"
"I'm not much of a talker."
Kate nodded. "Then come back to bed."
Ana took a slow, steadying breath and raised one eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"You got something better to do?" Kate asked, lifting the sheet nonchalantly.
Ana's lips stretched into a smile and she shook her head. "Not for the next 108 minutes."